


Miscommunication and Character Assassination

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles and Erik are angry about the same thing for different reasons, Charles drinks too much wine, and Erik uses insults as a form of affection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miscommunication and Character Assassination

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for **captainswank** in the secret_mutant exchange. For the prompt, "How do you think their first time came about?"

It's not anyone's fault. It's a product of fate and timing, really.

Just terrible fate and timing.

"There's no spare," Charles says, slamming the trunk of their borrowed government car.

"Did you check?" Erik asks.

"No," Charles snaps, "I divined it." Erik merely raises his eyebrows and Charles sighs and forces himself to take a deep breath. The flat tire is not Erik's fault and Charles shouldn't allow the tension between them to cause him to lash out. He takes another deep breath and rubs his temple. He's getting an awful headache. "Yes," he says. "I checked. There's nothing there."

"I could, perhaps, propel the car forward," Erik says.

"On three normal tires and one flat?" Charles asks.

"What's the alternative?" Erik asks. "We're in the middle of nowhere. We don't even know if there's a phone within walking distance. We can camp here for the night, but we'll still be in the middle of nowhere with a flat tire tomorrow morning." Erik's sounding testy too and if they don't do something soon, Charles is afraid of what might happen. He values his friendship, his _connection_ with Erik too much to ruin it over something like this.

Of course, that was how he got into this mess in the first place, wasn't it?

Charles closes his eyes and reaches out and out and out and--

"There's a farm house," he says, eyes squeezed shut, fingers pressed to his temple. "It's about...nine miles down the road. There's a couple there. They have a phone and I think they'd be amenable to two polite strangers."

"Fine," Erik says. He gestures down the road, already shady as the sky creeps towards twilight. "Lead the way."

Charles isn't exactly wearing the right shoes for a ten mile hike, but he keeps his mouth shut and tries not to project how miserable he is. It's not even the pain in his feet; two days ago, he would have relished the chance to go on another adventure with Erik, would have chatted non-stop the entire walk, making mental note to embelish the story for Raven when they got back. Two days ago, they would have had one of their spirted philosophical conversations, tossing observations and arguments back and forth as easily as breathing.

Two days ago, Charles would have stood close, let their hands brush, let himself thrill at the contact, even if it was fleeting. He certainly won't be doing that anymore.

The gap between them widens by inches as they continue their trek, the sun falling lower and lower in the sky. Erik says nothing, won't even look at him, and while Charles has never been ashamed of who he is, what he can do, or what he wants, he can't help but feel that shame creeping up his gut now. He's angry and embarrassed with himself for letting one man affect him this way, but, god, more than he wanted anything else from Erik, he wanted Erik to _like him_. He wanted a friend, a real friend, someone he could be honest with, someone who didn't expect anything more from him than he could give. He loves Raven, but it's hard to be her brother and her friend and her guardian all at the same time. With Erik, he had hoped he could lighten the burden of loneliness, but no, he managed to find the one way they differ and use it to ruin them.

Charles can feel the blisters on his feet as they finally approach the driveway. The sun has all but disappeared, staining the sky purple and pink and azure. Two days ago, Charles would have privately allowed himself to think this was romantic, but now he just limps sullenly towards the house, rushing to keep up with Erik's swifter pace.

Erik's already rung the bell by the time Charles joins him on the stoop, but it's Charles who speaks first when the door opens, revealing a woman in her mid-forties.

"Hello," he says, and smiles bashfully, and he can feel her hesitance at being presented with two strange men fade away at his smile and accent. "I'm so sorry to trouble you--we got a flat tire a few miles up the road, and we were hoping we could borrow your telephone."

She looks them over--her name is Judith, she's a homemaker, her husband Andrew stepped out to run into town for some milk--and if Charles nudges her towards her absent thoughts about how sweet they look and how tired they must be, it's only in the name of continuing their mission in a timely fashion.

"Well, certainly," she says. "I can't see why not. Name's Judith Farley. My husband, Andrew, should be home any minute."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Judith," Charles says. He kisses the back of her hand and she giggles. Erik scowls at him, but Charles ignores it. "My name is Charles Xavier. My friend here is Erik Lehnsherr."

"Come inside and have a seat! Can't have you waiting on the stoop all night!" Judith says, waving them towards the interior of the house, and Charles follows her gratiously and hopes it's enough to make her ignore Erik's obvious hesitance.

Judith offers them a drink and a seat and, before long, her husband returns home. They have a quiet conference in the kitchen that--yes, all right, Charles _might_ hasten along, but it's only because he's bloody exhausted and the alternative is having Andrew side-eye them for the rest of the night, worried they're going to try and make a move on his wife or rob him. It ends with the couple coming back into the sitting room cheerfully and offering to let them stay the night in the temporarily vacant upstairs apartment until they can call the tow truck in the morning.

"Abe goes to bed around now, the old lout," Andrew says. "No use trying to rouse him, but he'll tow you into town in the morning and fix the tire, easy as that."

"That would be wonderful, Mr. Farley," Charles says. "I can't tell you how much we appreciate it."

Erik nods stiffly and says nothing. As soon as they get a moment alone, Charles is going to _kill him_.

***

Or, as soon as they get a moment alone, Charles is going to drink an entire bottle of wine, minus the one glass Erik is still nursing, and pout epically.

Judith and Andrew had given them the wine and some bread and cheese before leaving them alone in the upstairs apartment and Charles may have forgone the latter to indulge in the former. Heavily.

It wasn't his fault, not really--Erik was right there, looking so closed off and disdainful and, okay, maybe _that_ was all Charles' fault and he _knew it_ and Raven always told him that his mouth was going to get him into trouble, but he had always assumed it would be from responding to a thought, not from sucking a stranger's dick in a dingy motel room outside of Boston.

His fault, yes, but Erik's too for being so sharp about the whole thing and for being so bloody handsome and smart and having such nice hands and so earnestly wanting to be Charles' _friend_. He thinks Erik hasn't earnestly wanted anything since his childhood and having that piled on him now, the occasional wide-eyed looks of wonder and frank admissions of respect that shine out from under the hard-edges when Erik lets his guard down--it's difficult to live up to, difficult to be the model friend and mentor and leader that Erik thinks he is when all he wants to do is lick the space between his collar bones and kiss him until they're both dizzy.

He finishes up the bitter dregs of the wine and rubs his eyes. He's going to be miserable in the morning. He hates wine hangovers. He doesn't even like wine very much, but he wasn't about to give the Farleys his drink order after they were being so kind. (Well, all right, he had considered it, but they hadn't had anything else in the house but cheap American beer and Charles did have _some_ standards.)

Erik makes a tiny, derisive noise without looking up from the book he's reading and Charles frowns at him.

"What?" he asks.

Erik sips his own glass and still doesn't look up. He's taken off his socks and shoes. He has very unfairly attractive feet, and that's not something Charles has ever thought about anyone else before. He blames the wine.

"You're going to regret that when Farley wakes us up at 5:30 to go into town," Erik says. He still won't look up from the blasted book.

"What do you care?" Charles asks. It's not petulant at all.

"As the person who will be forced to ride with you for the rest of this trip, I care quite a bit."

Charles wrinkles his nose. Erik doesn't have to rub it in. He supposes he shouldn't be so surprised. For all that Erik is for the freedom for mutants to be who they want to be, he's fairly intolerant of humans. It makes sense; as much as Charles had hoped that someone whose mind was open to the possibilities of advanced genetic mutation would be open to the idea of sex with another man, if that held true, no ethnic minority would have it in them to hate any other ethnic minority, and the state of civil rights in the country proved how incorrect an assumption _that_ was.

"It's not _catching_ , Erik," Charles insists, and there! Erik finally closes the book and sits up.

"I assume we're not talking about the hangover any longer," Erik says.

"I've never in my _life_ been ashamed of myself and I am _not_ going to start because some...some prudish Nazi-hunter takes issue!" Charles points his finger angrily at Erik who looks...confused. Good. Let him be confused. "I can control myself, thank you very much, and I'd have never--I wouldn't have--it wasn't as if I was going to crawl into your bed at night!" Well, not outside of Charles' more desperate fantasies, but Erik didn't need to know about those. Nor the ones where they had to sleep in the back of the car or they got trapped in an elevator together or there was only one bed in their hotel room. (He cursed the CIA and their forward-planning repeatedly for that last one.)

Erik's frown deepens. "Charles, I don't know what you--"

"Yes, you're attractive," Charles continues, undaunted. "And--really very--you're very fit and I appreciate that, of course, as someone who appreciates the male form and I may have--I mean, that doesn't _mean_ anything, other than that I find you attractive, but I find _loads_ of men attractive and I hardly sleep with all of them and I wouldn't have said a word, I wouldn't have done _anything_ and the fact that I haven't done anything even when you get out of the shower and walk around practically naked and damp--" He's losing the purpose of this discussion, probably because his brain is drifting to how Erik looks after a shower. "Rather, I certainly wouldn't have put our friendship on the line--" Ah, there's the point again. "I wouldn't have risked it by saying anything or doing anything because you're the best thing that's happened to me in ages and I don't want to do this without you and--"

"Charles!" Erik snaps, but Charles ignores him.

"The _point_ ," Charles says, raising his voice to reclaim Erik's attention, "is that it didn't have to change anything until _you_ went and decided that you'd rather ignore me just because I happen to occasionally seek sexual fulfillment from other men!"

He realizes, belatedly, that he may have shouted that last bit. He quickly steals down into the Farleys' minds and gently erases their confusion and horror, which just makes him all the more bitter when he returns his attention to Erik, looking--oddly unreadable.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Charles says mulishly, crossing his arms.

"Charles," Erik rubs his temples. "Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."

"What?" Charles asks, but before he can demand further explanation, Erik is--

Oh. Erik is kissing him.

 _You're an idiot_ , Erik thinks sharply, right into his head and the words _vibrate_ through his mind and he has to moan at that and then moan again because Erik is _kissing him_ and Charles is more than 99% sure it's of his own volition and not just because Charles has been staring at his mouth desperately for a month now.

He must have thought that last bit a little loudly because Erik thinks, _Yes, it's of my own volition, you idiotic fool._

It's really a testament to how far gone Charles is that he finds the insults to be a turn on.

Charles really doesn't want to let go on the off chance that this is some sort of terrible wine-induced hallucination, but he lets Erik break away eventually, though he doesn't let go of Erik's shoulders. That's okay--Erik doesn't seem eager to release his grip of Charles' face, either.

"You are insufferable," Erik says. "And a sanctimonious ass."

Charles had assumed, if any of his fantasies ever _did_ play out, that there would be more compliments involved and less character assassinations, but he's desperate enough to go with it.

"And monumentally stupid," Erik continues. "You never thought to look into my mind to see what I felt?"

"You asked me not to!" Charles says nobly. And then, because he's feeling appallingly honest, he adds, "Also, I was afraid that you'd be disgusted and scandalized."

Erik sighs and the breath tickles Charles' lips and makes him shiver.

"If you had," Erik murmurs, sounding a bit kinder now, "you'd have known that my derision the other night had less to do with the act you were performing and more to do with the person you were performing it on."

Charles thinks he follows that, but too many of his feverish hopes are pinned on this for him to be sure.

"May I?" he asks, nodding towards Erik.

"Yes," Erik says, and Charles lets go of Erik's shoulders and raises his hands to Erik's temples and--

>  _Charles on his knees in front of that worthless, drunken human man, Charles' bright blue eyes, so defiant, his mouth spit-slick and red and swollen and in their bloody room, he didn't even have the decency to do the deed in some seedy back alley where it belonged, no, he brought it back here to their space just to taunt Erik, to show him once again what he can't have, can never have, it's for the best, it's better this way, he'd ruin Charles, he can't let that happen, Charles is too important and Charles doesn't want him anyway, he has a different man in every city, never once came to Erik, never once wanted him, but Erik didn't think he was cruel, didn't think he would show off like this, flaunt it, and--_

  
Charles gasps and comes back to himself babbling, "No, no, you said you were going to see that film, I thought we'd have hours and it was raining and I didn't--"

"I don't want to talk about him," Erik nearly growls. "I want to--"

"Please," Charles says, flipping through Erik's fantasies eagerly. "Anything. Any of those, really except--I suppose we can't do this one without--oh! What about that? What about--?"

Erik silences him with another kiss and Charles gives in willingly. He slides his hands into Erik's hair and holds on as Erik walks them across the floor, Charles' feet clumsy and tangling with Erik's every step of the way but he _likes that_ , he likes touching Erik however he can and soon they're through the door and into the little bedroom.

Charles slips his hands underneath Erik's shirt and blames the steady shake on the wine. It's definitely the wine, not the fact that he's wanted this since he pulled Erik out of the water and Erik is built like something very close to perfection and, fuck, his stomach _alone_ makes Charles want to drop to his knees and just _lick_ \--

"Do that," Erik says, his voice ripped from his throat. "Do that, just--"

"Fuck," Charles mutters, "I really need to stop projecting." He reaches out once again to quickly wipe the last few minutes from the Farleys' memories. Better just to send them to bed, remind them of how tired they are, how early they need to get up, and that should do it--

"Charles!" Erik growls.

"Right, right," Charles says and drops to his knees and pushes Erik's shirt up to mouth at his stomach, his abdominals, and, bloody hell, it's just really unfair for one man to be built this well.

Erik peels off the shirt and drops his hands to Charles hair, petting and encouraging because, yes, Charles can see what he's at eyelevel with and fuck if he doesn't want it too, hasn't been wanting it.

He makes short work of Erik's belt and pulls down his trousers and shorts. There will be time for a slow seduction later, when his head isn't spinning with equal parts arousal and intoxication and embarrassingly giddy joy at being able to put his hands on Erik like he's been dreaming of for weeks. He admires Erik's cock, which is on the bigger side of the men he's had, but hot and hard and perfect and Charles will wax poetic about it later because right now he just wants it _in his mouth_.

Something in his chest loosens when he does wrap his lips around the head and slowly slide down the shaft, just as he slowly slides himself into Erik's mind. Erik's making a noise just this side of desperate and it's not just because someone's touching his cock, it's because it's _Charles_. It's because Erik's wanted this just as much as he has and the sight of Charles on his knees and flushed and happy with his mouth on Erik's cock and his hands on Erik's hips and his eyes staring up through that ridiculous hair--

Erik moans because he's never allowed himself to want something this badly and he can't believe he's gotten it. Charles moans because the way Erik thinks about Charles in his head is breaking his heart in the best possible way.

He sucks harder, moving one of his hands from Erik's hip to his shaft and twisting it where the skin is already slick. He squeezes and moans as Erik mumbles things in German, half-coherantly, one hand fisted in Charles' hair and the other holding onto the wall next to the bed just to stay upright. He looks perfect. He looks undone and wrecked, his muscles straining, his skin flushed and bright with sweat and his hand drifts from Charles' hair to cup his cheek, thumb sliding to rub at the corner of Charles' mouth where his lips are stretched so tightly around Erik's cock. Charles shudders and thinks, _You're amazing. You're everything I wanted. I'm not going to break, harder, please, I want to feel it, I want my throat to be raw for days, I want everyone to hear me and know you've had your cock fucking my throat--_

Erik's hips snap forward and he cries out, wordlessly, almost soundlessly, a single high-pitched gasp. He curls his hand in Charles' hair again and shoves his head forward and _this_ is what Charles has been waiting for, feeling Erik fuck into him, feeling Erik lose control for how badly he wants Charles.

He takes it, wheezing through his nose, eyes watering, encourages Erik further, deeper, swallows and moans and then Erik is pulling his hair, trying to pull him off, but anything's better than the taste of that awful wine and Charles has never minded the taste of come anyway, so he swallows in deep gulps that have Erik making a kind of keening noise, even as Charles sucks the last of it out of him.

Erik collapses onto the bed, naked. Charles, fully clothed, stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

"You are _indecent_ ," Erik mutters. "And wearing far too many clothes for this."

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Charles asks, because Erik's had a lot of things in mind for the past few weeks and he'd really be open to try basically any of them. The words catch on his throat--it's been a long time since he's had someone's cock that far down. It's a good ache, though, and the sound makes Erik's eyelashes flutter.

"Unless you've got anything we can use for lubrication in your pockets," Erik says as Charles shucks off his shirt and cardigan and kicks off his shoes, "I thought, perhaps, we'd start with this." He reaches right into Charles' trousers, which he's in the process of unbuttoning, and curls his hand around Charles' cock.

"That's perfect," Charles breathes desperately, wiggling out of the rest of his clothes. "That's--fuck, I love your hands, I--"

Erik twists his wrist and pulls Charles closer, kissing him ferociously, kissing him like it's a fight that one of them is going to lose and Charles almost hopes it's him because he'd love to be at Erik's mercy, like he's at Erik's mercy now with his hand just wrapping more and more tightly around Charles' cock, moving faster, squeezing, swiping his hand over the tip until Charles is shuddering in his arms and _oh--_ kissing his throat, kissing him right there, making his toes curl and his breath catch in his throat--

"Erik, Erik, Erik, please," Charles murmurs. He doesn't even know what he's pleading for--to come, to never come, to stay like this forever with Erik leaning over him, the air between them hot and moist and Erik's mouth on him, Erik's hands on him, Erik's mind so close and a constant litany of how hot Charles is, how beautiful, how everything about him is amazing, how well they fit together, how they're equals, finally, someone in the world just for him, someone in the world that's _his_ \--

Charles should be embarrassed that it's that hot stab of possession that makes him come all over Erik's fist, but he doesn't have any energy left to be anything more than pleased with himself and doubly pleased with Erik.

Charles closes his eyes and lets himself drift, naked and sprawled against Erik as Erik hunts for something to use to clean off his hand.

 _My briefs are fine,_ he thinks lazily.

 _And what, you'll put them in your pocket and carry them out of here tomorrow morning?_ Erik thinks back.

 _I'll put them in the trash and convince the Farleys they never saw them,_ Charles says, and he can feel the mental reprimand that Erik sends him, but there's no real bite to it and, moments later, Erik settles down again, wrapping his arms around Charles.

 _You were really too scared to check my mind to see if I was interested?_ Erik asks.

 _You really thought I would rather suck some drunken stranger's cock than yours?_ Charles asks. _I'm not the only stupid one here, you know._

"Go to sleep, Charles," Erik mutters. "Or you're going to be cross when the Farleys wake us up at 5:30 to go into town."

"Very little will be able to make me cross tomorrow morning, I'd wager," Charles says, and he feels Erik's answering smile against the back of his neck as he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
